Now It's Time For You to Stop
by PhoenixDragonDreamer
Summary: It got better, easier when one could share the running, the adventure, the pain and joy. It was easier when you had someone to hold your hand.


The first trip…

The first one is always amazing: bigger on the inside, galaxies at your fingertips – just a press of a button, a pull of a lever and Presto! (_Geronimo_), there you are, the whole of the universe waiting for you to touch, taste, feel and breathe in air and light and sound that is not yours. That _can_ be yours for however that brief a moment.

His was long, long ago – and in a Type 60 Mark V – not nearly as amazing or wonderful as his Girl, but near enough (if you can discount all the boring bits of travel, not nearly as exciting as it is with a Type 40). He was young, young, young then – merely 40 and his eyes were wide with the call of adventure. He had nearly forgotten that call, that _feeling_ – when barely a century and some change later he was running, running, running; a path that never stopped and stretched forever on. The peoples –

_Going on the run from your own people?_

He had run from have long gone, long descended to dust centuries ago just yesterday, but the running never stopped.

_Why not? That's how it all started._

It got better, easier when one could share the running, the adventure, the pain and joy. It was easier when you had someone to hold your hand.

He had forgotten that. When Gallifrey had fallen to dust (burning forever nowhere and everywhere) he had gone on alone; no one to share with, his Ship silent, his mind layered in dark regret. No fingers sought his out, no voice called his name. He had forgotten his Name –

_Doctor!_

Then came Rose.

Ahhh, the joy of a Companion's first trip.

He had forgotten that, too.

Each Companion was different, though their first trips always started the same: Bigger on the inside, amazing, there is a whole world in here, am I mad, am I dreaming?

He lied though. Not every Companion started the same –

_The only water in the Forrest is the River_

And their endings…

He would have loved to have seen River's first trip – to hear her gasp in amazement, in awe –

_I've heard them all_

To see her touch the console for the first time. To hear the TARDIS as She guided River through her first flight; as she saved her parents and finally (with that act) saved herself.

He wished he could have been there –

_You were busy that day_

But there were other, pressing matters at that time.

The first flight. The first trip. Always the best of them all; just as his friends, the people he loved – they were the best of _him_. Each and every one of them. Each one special, unique – the ways they made him better, the ways they made him _more_ all starting with that first step into his beloved machine. That first destination –

_Goodbye Leadsworth, Hello __**Everything**__!_

He tried to always keep that. Hold that in a memory that was ever-expanding, never-tiring in a mind that was so much older than even he would admit. He held onto their first time, he held onto the precious, tenous, fleeting moments that would define their history with him – that single shining moment when they first laid their trust in him and let him guide them through the stars.

He had to hold onto that. Through all the blood, the death – whole universes rising and falling on the breath of suspended hope and crippling joy; he held tight. It hurt to hold it so selfishly, so tightly in his hearts – but the pain carried its own beauty, its own joy…and he ran with them all held close, their eyes wide with wonder, shining with curiosity, dazzled with hope. He held on tight and tried to make himself forget -

_Selfish, foolish old man_

That with every first trip, there is always a last one.

_He's taking me to see the Singing Towers, he's been promising for __**ages**__ -_

Every fresh pair of eyes loses the wonder, the joy, the laughter…one by one, they all leave. They have to, they have other things, other people they have to save, to meet, to destroy, to befriend. And whether he wants to or not, he will always find someone new, someone special – and he will relive the joy of that first time; and hold it close (even as it _burns_) to his soul, his hearts, the constantly written (and rewritten) fragile, steely catches of his memory.

_I took you by the hand and led you to -_

He missed her first trip.

_My Doctor…_

And he wishes (_does he ever wish_) as he prepares for the Towers –

_He even gave me his new sonic screwdriver, see?_

That he didn't have to see River's last.

**FIN**


End file.
